Sometimes They Come Back
by hopelessromantic549
Summary: She could only see his profile, but that was more than enough to make her move instinctively in his direction. She would risk everything for this boy, and that scared her. But it didn't really matter. She was already half in love with him. Slightly AU LP.
1. Live Only For Ourselves

**A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first attempt at a One Tree Hill story. It will focus on LP and will probably only be four chapters. I just want to explore that very first part of their relationship, and I hope you'll join me. **

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is from a quote by Herman Melville.**

Chapter 1

Live Only For Ourselves

_One night of magic rush  
The start a simple touch  
One night to push and scream  
And then relief  
- Heartbeats by Jose Gonzalez_

Peyton Sawyer's vibrant green eyes scanned the room, her mess of blond curls falling fretfully with every cock of the head and twist of the neck. Her gaze traced the doors of the house, her heart pounding with every breath of cool air and sudden glimpse of night. It meant someone new had come. And that moment, that moment of sweet anticipation, was all she had left to grasp.

She hoped there would be someone interesting at this party, someone who would free her from the chains of popularity and expectation. It was a world she didn't really want to be a part of, a world Brooke Davis, her best friend, had thrust her into.

Brooke was meant for this world. Not Peyton.

Peyton wondered absentmindedly where her boyfriend, Nathan Scott, the typical stupid, supposedly attractive jock, was, but she realized she really didn't care. She was, in a sense, his trophy wife; they kept their relationship intact for appearance's sake, but were hardly "in love."

What a load of crap. Like love even existed, thought Peyton bitterly.

Of course, just as she thought that, her eyes fell on a sight she really didn't have the time to worry about right now: the sight of Nathan kissing his way up some blond bimbo's stomach, his sexily mussed black locks falling over his forehead as the girl lying beneath him laughed. Peyton turned away, not bothering to confront Nathan about his clandestine behavior. It wasn't worth the trouble.

She ignored the eyes that fell on her, instead shaking her head, tossing her blond curls ever so slightly. She pretended not to notice the gaping mouth of the girl next to her. She had long ago accepted that Nathan was just like this, that he was a playboy and she'd have to deal with it. She barely even cringed when she saw him in action anymore.

Everyone wondered how Peyton could laugh things off like this, how she and Nathan could still be together despite his numerous infidelities. They didn't realize that she just didn't care.

Nathan's head snapped up when he realized the laughter had drained out of the room, and his eyes rose to meet Peyton's. He smiled a little, a conspiratorial grin, and waited for Peyton's usual answering nod. But she only stared at him for a long moment, color rushing into her cheeks.

Something had suddenly changed. The sight of him kissing some other girl was just too much to handle. She couldn't believe she had let this happen again. She couldn't believe she had let him embarrass her in front of all their friends again. And so she walked away.

It barely registered in Peyton's mind that Nathan didn't call after her.

She circled the house a couple times, avoiding Nathan, avoiding the crowds of drunken people, avoiding everything. She just wanted to be alone. She just wanted to escape.

But she couldn't, could she? She was trapped, trapped in Tree Hill, North Carolina.

What a hopeless preposition. She'd never get anywhere in life.

She wanted to draw, she realized. She wanted to let it all go, and she only knew how to let it out on paper, with pencil and ink and shapes. But she couldn't do that, either. Not now. Not here.

The door creaked open as Peyton's thoughts wandered, and her glance flew to the front of the house. Maybe this would be different. But it was only Brooke. Brooke, who was sweaty and breathless. Brooke, whose hair was tangled and whose shirt was flush on her stomach, exposing a few inches of taut, stretched skin. Peyton laughed to herself. Of course.

Brooke reached up on her tiptoes and locked eyes with Peyton, smiling a little and dipping her head in silent apology. Peyton shrugged. This happened often. It didn't really faze her anymore, not after years of friendship with Brooke.

Peyton watched affectionately as Brooke barreled through the crowd and launched herself at her best friend, guffawing loudly. Peyton patted Brooke's head and cautiously sniffed her hair, then groaned. Brooke was drunk. And not just slightly tipsy. She was the kind of drunk that meant staying up all night throwing up and waking up the next morning with a hangover that only eased with time.

Peyton pulled back a little and gazed into Brooke's guileless eyes, grumbling, "What happened to you this time?"

Brooke shook her head and babbled, her words slightly nonsensical, "Well, I met this guy, and he got me a drink, and then he asked me if I wanted to go outside, and I was, like, 'Of course!' And then…"

Her raspy voice, darkened with alcohol, trailed off, and Peyton sighed in resignation. She'd have to get her home. Now.

"Brooke," she panted, struggling in her efforts to keep her best friend upright. "You've got to help me out here."

Brooke slumped in Peyton's arms, giggling, and mumbled, "Sorry, P. Sawyer. I'm just a little drunk…"

Peyton sighed and noted irritably, "I can see that."

Brooke laughed again, the sound audible even over the throbbing music, and several people turned to look at the unlikely pair: the lanky, unapproachable, self-described loner and the bubbly, flirty cheerleader. Their gazes made Peyton uncomfortable, and she averted her eyes, waiting for the tide of interest to pass. But she grudgingly conceded that it would likely remain for a while, because there was nothing more entertaining than a drunken girl at a house party.

But they were all used to this by now, and their eyes soon left the sight behind. Peyton couldn't help but sigh in relief. She had never liked the attention popularity brought.

Brooke straightened slightly and rambled, "I'm sorry, Peyton. I know this always happens, but I'm just so drunk and the guy was so nice."

"I know," Peyton whispered, stroking Brooke's dark hair fondly. "I know."

The two best friends stood there in the hallway for a moment, watching the swarms of people blend and falter. Peyton wondered if any of them were different, if any of them were unique. Did they ever want to break free? Or were they all just content with the lives they had here? She supposed they were. They had never known anything else.

Then again, neither had she. And somehow, she still managed to yearn for a life she didn't know.

Brooke whispered, her words muffled by the fabric of Peyton's soft blue tee, "Can we go home now?"

Peyton nodded, yawning. "Yeah. We're going to leave soon."

She hooked her arm through Brooke's and dragged them both towards the front door, feeling the strength ebb out of her. As much as she loved Brooke, this was a little ridiculous.

But the sudden coldness in the air shocked her, and she slowly turned her head, knowing something had changed. The room had gone quiet, the voices of drunken high schoolers and sleazy guys drowning in the rush of silence. The windows had fogged up, the mist falling to meet the flames of sordid passion fluttering on the floor, a floor littered with bronze limbs tangled, slipping, entwined. And the door had swung open, the creak of the hinges resonating in Peyton's ears.

She gasped. Someone new was here. She could feel it.

She dropped Brooke's arm, her gaze sweeping across the room until it reached the door, the white, nondescript door that suddenly seemed like it was the door to the path that led to all her dreams.

And then she saw him.

Peyton looked at him in awe, this new arrival, her eyes greedily drinking in the closely cropped golden locks, the strong chin, the edge of a welcoming smile. She could only see his profile, could only see the muscles bulging in his tan arms and the legs sheathed in baggy jeans. But that was more than enough to sate her thirst for excitement and make her move instinctively in his direction.

Nothing could have prepared her, though, for the stab of pain and longing that pieced her very core when Lucas Scott turned to look at her.

She had heard about this boy before, had heard Nathan voice his name bitterly, had heard Brooke rant and rave about how attractive he was (at least, Brooke _thought_ he was attractive – she had only ever seen his picture in the newspaper). But she hadn't thought that she would ever meet him, and she had never imagined a moment like this. She simply couldn't have.

Because as the other Scott brother looked at her, wonder and admiration sparkling in his surprisingly clear blue eyes, Peyton knew he would come talk to her. And she didn't want to avoid him, because she thought that maybe she had finally found someone who would know her.

And that was worth risking everything. She would risk her life for this boy, a boy she didn't even know. Yet. Lucas Scott.

"Come on," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes locking with Lucas's, "Brooke, come on. We're leaving."

Leaving, because Peyton fully intended to pass Lucas on the way out.

She didn't stop to think about what that impulse meant. She didn't want to think about what it meant, really. Instead, she simply hooked her arm through Brooke's once again and pulled her forward. The two girls trudged towards the door wearily, their heads down, their bodies slumping. Neither of them had the energy to remain upright, and so they didn't try.

But as they reached the door, as they crossed the threshold, Peyton's arm brushed Lucas's, and she could not remember her name for one long moment. She turned to look at him, and he smiled at her, one eyelid reaching down in a subtle wink that broke through another few of the walls surrounding her heart.

God. She was already falling for him, and she didn't even know him.

The thought had her almost running out the door with Brooke, the drunken girl hanging off her arm in a desperate attempt to stay standing. Peyton needed to get away from the magnetic pull of that boy's eyes. He was forbidden. Forbidden. Forbidden. It was a mantra that she repeated to herself as she walked.

But then, as they headed home, as they were halfway down the sidewalk leading away from the house, Peyton realized she had left her purse in the kitchen, and she spun around quickly, determined to retrieve it as quickly as possible.

Brooke didn't say anything, and Peyton ignored her, because at this point, the brunette was halfway unconscious.

Once the two girls reentered the party, Peyton left Brooke on a sofa by the door and headed for the kitchen, sighing in relief when her hands closed around her black leather purse. She wondered idly what Nathan had gotten up to since she had last seen him, but disregarded the thought and prepared to leave again.

Just as she thought that, Nathan himself came up behind her and grabbed her ass. She flinched at his rough touch and hissed, "Come on, Nathan. Let's not pretend you even really wanted to do that."

Nathan laughed in her ear and whispered sweetly, "Peyton, lighten up a little. Have some fun. The bedroom's open."

His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and Peyton cringed in disgust. It had been a long time since anything Nathan did had made her horny. It had been a long time since the sight of his floppy, slightly greasy hair and his cloudy, unfocused blue eyes had turned her on. She was past that point. She was just…over him.

She sighed heavily, preparing to fake tiredness, and leaned into Nathan, trying to ignore the shudder of discomfort that rippled down her spine when her skin was flush with his. She turned her head slightly and purred, "I wish I could, tiger. But I'm not feeling so well. It's late."

Nathan chuckled nastily and pulled Peyton close to him, snarling in her ear, "I don't care, Peyton. We haven't had sex in weeks."

Peyton turned around and angrily shoved him backward, a steely glint in her eyes that frightened him a little. "Do I look like I want to have sex right now?"

Nathan glared at her and grabbed her arms, pinning them securely behind her back. He stepped closer to her and asserted, his voice low and cold and menacing, "You're my girlfriend. And I want you. Now."

Peyton laughed, a broken, sarcastic sound that tumbled out of her mouth without regard to the people listening, and retorted bitterly, "Well, seeing as you were just necking that skank over there in the corner five minutes ago, I really don't understand how that's possible."

Nathan gaped at her in disbelief. She didn't usually complain about his "secret" trysts with other girls. She usually just ignored them, and her sudden interest in his infidelity crowded his thoughts and made him blurt out the truth. "She was horny, I was horny, end of story. Look, Peyton, why do you care so much?"

Peyton glared at him. "Do you have any idea how this makes me look?" She struggled to release herself from the hold of his arms, but he only clutched her wrists tighter, making her cry out in pain.

He wasn't goofy anymore. He wasn't the guy she knew. He was scary. He was out for blood, and everyone in the room knew it.

Nathan stepped closer to her and whispered, "It makes you look like a jock's girlfriend. Typical. Just deal with it."

"I don't want to." Peyton shook her head, purposely throwing her curls in Nathan's face. She realized he was probably more than a little intoxicated at this point, but she didn't care. She could forgive him for this in the morning. But right now, she just wanted to hurt him. "Not anymore."

"Are you breaking up with me?" Nathan's voice was quiet, cold, harsh. It was more frightening, somehow, than it would have been if he had yelled it.

Peyton flinched and shook her head. As much as she wanted to break up with Nathan, there _were_ times when she really cared about him. And so she simply averted her eyes and shot back fiercely, "No. I just want you to treat me right. Which, apparently, you are incapable of doing."

And then Nathan lunged at her, and the darkness behind Peyton's eyelids was suddenly a haven.

From the foggy depths of slight unconsciousness, she heard voices, whispers and squeals fluttering in her ears. She heard Nathan's exclamation of outrage and Brooke's drunken giggle. She heard the dull thud of a punch being thrown, and as she opened her eyes to a bright light, she saw…

Lucas Scott. Of course.

He extended a hand to her, and she took it, grumbling all the while. His soft laugh did not make her smile.

"What happened?" she asked him groggily, rubbing her eyes.

He pulled her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady, murmuring in her ear, his warm breath fanning across her face, "Well, it looked like Nathan was going to hurt you."

Peyton turned to look at him questioningly, trying to remember what had happened before she had been knocked – had she been knocked? – to the floor, and smiled a little at the anger dancing in his strange eyes.

He shrugged. "So I stepped in. I guess he didn't like that much. You know, the long-lost half-brother beating up the basketball star."

He broke out into a grin, but Peyton was horrified. "You beat him up?" she screeched, secretly feeling grateful.

"Not exactly…" Lucas corrected amusedly, unable to suppress his glee, "I may have punched him once or twice, but he's fine."

"Where is he?" she asked hotly, her eyes anxiously scanning the room. She didn't really want to face Nathan right now, not after she had publicly embarrassed him by rejecting his plea for sex and then been saved by her boyfriend's estranged half-brother. But what had she been saved from? Rape? She really didn't know, and that was the reason she needed to find Nathan. She didn't want Nathan to think that she had wanted to be saved by Lucas.

And so she looked for him.

But, as always, he was nowhere to be seen. Peyton turned to Lucas, wrenching herself away from his grip, but softened when he didn't resist, when he didn't try to hold onto her. Nathan would have.

The comparison made her shudder, and she spat at Lucas, "What have you done?"

He was clearly bewildered, and he raised his eyebrows, replying carefully, as if each word mattered very much, "I was only trying to help."

"I didn't need your _help_," Peyton retorted, lifting her head haughtily. She could feel color burning in her cheeks, and she hastened to expel it, hoping Lucas wouldn't think she was blushing. Because she wasn't blushing. She was only angry. And whenever she was angry, heat rushed into her cheeks. It was a humiliating tendency.

She continued, "And I need to go find my best friend now. So if you'll excuse me…"

Lucas smiled wryly and leaned against the nearest wall, blocking Peyton's way, lifting a hand. "Lucas Scott," he murmured in a lazy attempt to introduce himself.

"Peyton Sawyer," she answered distractedly, ignoring the hand he extended to her, trying to find a way around him. She had to find Brooke and go home. Now.

"You know," said Lucas, tapping her arm playfully, "You really shouldn't leave in the middle of conversations. It's rude."

Peyton glared at him. "No," she countered, leaning towards him slightly, her emerald eyes blazing into his lighter, softer sapphire ones, "What's rude is when someone gets in other people's business. Wouldn't you agree?"

She threw a fake smile at him and waited for his retort, but he only grinned and whispered, "You're not meant for this world, are you?"

Peyton growled in frustration and placed both hands on his chest in a futile attempt to push him backward, trying to ignore the warmth beneath her fingers. "You are in no position to judge me, Lucas Scott. No position at all."

She was irritable, angry. At least on the outside.

But, as Peyton would discover over the next few years, the other Scott brother was not fooled by words. He knew better.

And so he only whispered, "You should go find your best friend."

Peyton nodded dumbly, but just as she was about to go find Brooke, the drunk girl herself walked up to her and mumbled, "Peyton, who is this guy?"

Peyton smiled indulgently and patiently explained, "_This guy_ is a nuisance, and someone we're going to get away from now." She turned to look at Lucas and smiled sweetly, her words dripping with sarcasm. "It was nice to meet you, Lucas."

He only nodded, suppressing a smile.

But then Lucas Scott uttered the four words that changed Peyton Sawyer's life.

"I'll be seeing you."

_tbc_


	2. Snow After Fire

**A/N: As you'll see, there are some lines in here that were used in the show. I take no credit for them, obviously, but felt I had to incorporate them as they are integral to the story. Also, some events are going to be in a different order than they are on the show, but all for the sake for entertainment ;)**

**That being said, thank you for reading and enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is a quote from J.R.R. Tolkien.**

Chapter 2

Snow After Fire

_Now join your hands  
And with your hands,  
Your hearts  
- Henry VI by William Shakespeare, Act IV, Scene VI_

Peyton didn't really expect to see Lucas again, nor talk to him, not after the way she had treated him at the party. He was much too proud to approach her, at least not while the memory of their encounter still flamed in his mind. She liked that, she had to admit. She could admire that.

A part of her wished she regretted the harsh words she had spat at him, but she didn't. He was too dangerous for her. She couldn't feel attracted toward him, couldn't want to know him. And so she decided to push him away, simply to save herself from ruin and heartbreak.

It would only end badly, she thought.

And so Peyton was surprised when she found herself by the lake a couple days after the fateful party, leaning against her car, watching a truck approach. She knew, somehow, that it was Lucas in that driver's seat, knew that it was he who would "save" her.

She groaned inwardly at the thought. She wasn't some kind of damsel in distress.

She would have called Nathan to come get her, but he was at basketball practice or something, and after the way they had left things the night before, she was hesitant. She knew they would resolve things sooner or later, but she was almost _enjoying_ the newfound freedom.

Of course, with that independence came a keen sense of loneliness. And if there was one thing Peyton Sawyer couldn't handle, it was being alone.

She quickly looked away once she noticed Lucas, trying not to let her eyes roam his body as he flung open his car door and headed towards her, clipboard in hand. He came to a stop in front of her and laughed a little when he realized that she wasn't planning on looking at him anytime soon. Disgusted by his obvious amusement, she straightened and whipped her head around, her eyes blazing in defiance.

"Can I help you?" she asked angrily, crossing her arms over her chest in a feeble attempt to protect herself from the magnetic force that seemed to draw her to him (it was impossible, of course).

Lucas stared at her for a long moment, the intensity of his blue-eyed gaze unnerving them both, and countered, "Actually, it's you that needs the help."

Peyton shook her head, trying in vain to ignore the lust that flamed in his eyes as her blond curls brushed his cheek. She returned his desiring gaze with rage in her steely voice. "Don't look at me that way."

Lucas laughed lightly and ran a hand through his hair, murmuring, "Whatever. I'm just here to fix your car."

Peyton tried – and failed – to avoid tracing the contours of his hand as it flitted through his golden locks, tried to slow the unsteady beating of her heart as his eyes fell on hers once more. And then she sighed. It seemed like all she ever did when she was around him was try to ignore the way he made her feel.

"Well, get on with it then," She said tiredly.

He nodded and whispered, his voice sending chills down her spine, "You know, you'd better get used to seeing me around. I'm going to be on the basketball team now. Along with your boyfriend, of course."

Peyton scowled at him. "You won't be seeing me," she corrected, "Because I'll make sure you don't."

"I hear you're a cheerleader, though," Lucas replied casually, bending over the hood of Peyton's car as he attempted to fix whatever had gone wrong. "Didn't peg you as the cheerleader type –" he smiled up at her, and she resisted the urge to press her lips to his, if only for a moment – "But then again, you're full of surprises."

"My mom was a cheerleader," She whispered, tears welling in her eyes. The fault line in her chest rippled with pain and remembrance, and she clenched her fists, willing the sorrow away. She wiped the tears away angrily, hoping Lucas hadn't noticed that she was crying, and cursed herself for being so damn soft. She didn't know why she had confessed that to him. She hardly knew him. And she had never told anyone that before.

Lucas's face fell, and Peyton wondered what he had seen in her eyes. His voice was quiet, regretful, pitying when he next spoke. "I'm sorry, Peyton."

And with that simple sentence, with the words that burned in her throat as he spoke them, she knew he knew that her mother had died. And for a fleeting moment, she saw the pure concern in his blue eyes and knew she would love that boy someday.

But then she remembered who he was, and what she was doing, and her thoughts turned violent. How could he have found out about her mother? Who would have told him?

But Peyton realized that it didn't really matter. He knew. He knew, and the thought had her walls up before he took his next breath.

"You're not allowed to be sorry," She sniffed, turning away from him to hide the moisture sparkling in her eyes.

"Why not?" he asked gently, lacing his fingers through hers, swinging their hands slightly. He laughed a little when she trembled, and she took a step back, realizing that if she didn't escape now, she never would.

"For many reasons," she countered angrily, freeing her hand from his grip unwillingly.

"First of all," her voice trailed off, and she summoned the courage to send away the one person who saw her, really saw her. She couldn't help but notice the way his piercing eyes traced the sweeping eyelashes caressing her skin and the subtle curve of her lips. She knew he didn't just see the breasts tucked in her olive blouse and the legs sheathed in jeans. She knew he saw _her._

But that was precisely the problem. He couldn't see her. She simply wouldn't allow it.

And so she spat, "You don't know me."

He shook his head, the hint of a smile gracing his lips, but said nothing.

"Second of all," she continued, "You don't know me."

He let out a quiet laugh and whispered, "No, but I will."

And with that, he got in his car and drove away, leaving a very confused and frustrated Peyton Sawyer in his wake.

…

Weeks passed. Peyton saw _him_ occasionally, at school, at the river court. She avoided him, of course. She didn't want to talk to him.

But then one day she was leaning by her locker, talking to Brooke, and he came up behind her and tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin layers of fabric separating them. She shivered involuntarily and nodded to Brooke, who winked at her conspicuously and walked away without hesitation.

"What do you want, Lucas?" Peyton hissed angrily without turning around. She hated the black fire that coursed through her veins when his name fell from her lips.

He laughed quietly, his fingers curling around the sleeve of her t-shirt, and spun her around to face him, replying easily, "I just want to be friends with you. That's all I want."

Her eyes softened a little, and she nodded. They could be friends, she reasoned.

And so they became friends. He often came to her house, and she often came to his. He would watch her draw while her head bobbed in time to whatever record was playing at the moment, and she'd sit on the bench at the river court and watch him shoot baskets until it was too dark for him to make out the painted lines.

It was a peaceful friendship. She never let herself feel more than peace when he was around; anything else was dangerous. But sometimes she noticed – felt more than saw, really – the heat of his eyes on her back as she lazily sketched. Sometimes, she saw a flicker of something – indecision? Concern? Affection? – dart across his face and she looked away before she had the time to hope that it meant something.

Because she couldn't fall for him. She simply couldn't.

For one, there was Nathan. They were still together. Unfortunately. And she couldn't help but realize that too much had changed. It had changed subtly, gradually, but changed nonetheless. He was no longer enough for her.

It didn't help, of course, that he and his friends made Lucas' life a living hell. They stole his clothes, defaced his locker, refused to pass him the ball in games.

And Peyton was pissed as hell at Nathan for it.

She understood that he was threatened by Lucas' presence, both because of basketball and because of her, but, really, did he have to be such a jackass?

They were at a party when it ended.

She stood awkwardly by the front door of some random junior's house, bored, a little bit drunk. And out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a visibly distressed Nathan yelling at a calm, collected Lucas. She smiled to herself.

But then she remembered that she was _Nathan's_ girlfriend, not Lucas', and so she strode towards her boyfriend, plastering a fake smile on her face.

"Nathan," she asked sweetly, placing a hand on his impressively muscled forearm delicately, "What are you doing?"

"Stay out of this, Peyton," he spat out of the corner of his mouth, not bothering to look at her. "I'm gonna mess this bastard up."

Peyton saw Lucas cringe at the word, and without a thought as to the repercussions of her bold action, she leapt in between the two feuding brothers and snapped, "Stop it, both of you! You're better than this."

But only Lucas paused. His eyes fell to meet hers. She smiled a little. For there he stood, hair mussed, clothes disheveled, smile sheepish. And glorious as always.

She realized in that moment that she couldn't stay with Nathan. Not when she felt something – whatever it was – for the golden-haired boy next to her.

And so she gently pressed her hands to Nathan's broad chest and reached up on her tiptoes, whispering in his ear, smiling at the sound of Lucas gritting his teeth in ill-concealed jealousy behind her, "We need to talk."

Nathan nodded, sure she just wanted to go make out or something. He glared at Lucas before clasping Peyton's hand with his and leading her into an empty bedroom in a secluded corner of the house.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head, averting her eyes. She didn't dare look at him. She was afraid of the reaction her words would spur in him.

And so she sank to the floor. It was quiet there, serene. The lights were flashing, blinking as she sat on the cold wood, her head in her hands. The room spun, faltered, and she suddenly wished that Lucas were there with there. It'd make it easier, she thought. Easier to banish – or at least cope with – the surrounding blackness that seemed to penetrate and suffocate. She couldn't end this. Nathan was all she'd ever known. How could she abandon him?

But she knew she had to.

And so she pulled herself to her feet and whispered, "It's over."

"What's over?" Nathan asked easily, obviously not suspecting anything.

"Us," she whispered.

Nathan's mouth gaped open in disbelief, and she shrugged nonchalantly, brushing past him with tears cascading down her cheeks. This hurt her more than she had thought it would.

Nathan caught her hand and pulled her back to him, yelling in shock, "What do you mean it's _over_? It's over when I say it's over, Peyton!"

But she carefully extracted herself from his hold and walked out the door, trying in vain to ignore the hurried footsteps behind her, failing when he spun her around to face him and wrenched her face to his, hissing, "Why now, Peyton?"

She trembled slightly, but not from fear. "You messed with Lucas," she said evenly, watching as the anger flew into Nathan's blue eyes, "And I'm not okay with that."

"So this is about Lucas?" he roared, causing several people to gather around the raging couple in fright and curiosity. Peyton noticed, in her periphery, that Lucas was leaning against the wall watching them. He caught her eye and nodded slightly. And she sighed in relief. Because he was offering support. And that was what she needed right now.

And so she summoned the courage to leave Nathan once and for all. It had been easy to be with him before. He had helped her forget most things, things like Lucas. She had thought she could love him. But now, every time his arms were around her and she looked into his blue eyes, she found herself wishing for a lighter shade of blue, a lighter color of closely cropped locks. It was inevitable.

"No," she corrected. "This is about you. I don't like the way you treat him."

Nathan shook his head vehemently, then smiled wickedly, confusing Peyton. "We'll be back together tomorrow," he said confidently, with all the swagger of a high-school jock, and chuckled at the disgust shining through her eyes.

"Not this time," she argued, stepping away from him and heading toward the door. "Not this time."

She noticed – it was subtle, but she noticed – that Lucas moved from his perch by the wall and followed her.

She let him follow her, because as much as she liked to tell herself that she liked being alone, she really didn't. She wordlessly traced the steps back to her house, strangely comforted by the sound of his footsteps trailing behind.

He followed her into the house and up the stairs, and she collapsed on her bed while he simply took the chair by her computer.

He wondered why she had broken up with Nathan. Was it for him? Or had she simply gotten tired of the way her now ex-boyfriend treated everyone around him?

Either way, now certainly wasn't the time to ask her.

He was surprised she didn't reach for her sketchbook. That was usually her stress reliever. He wondered if she was so distraught that she didn't even have the strength to grasp release, so lost that not even art could bring her comfort. He cringed at the thought of her being so desperate and broken. And he realized, in that moment, with her sprawled across the bed and him seated comfortably in a rickety chair, with the window slightly open and the curtains blowing in the breeze…he realized that he was falling for Peyton Sawyer.

And it scared the hell out of him.

…

Finally, after a long moment in which Lucas wrestled with the sudden feelings that gripped him whenever Peyton glanced his way, she spoke.

"It's over."

Her voice was a mere whisper. The sheer weakness of it surprised him.

But he only nodded. He knew she was referring to her and Nathan's relationship. And so the silence stretched on.

But Peyton didn't mind. She needed to think.

But she was done thinking, she realized. She wanted to _feel_.

She lifted herself off the bed after a long moment. The air had become stifling, the heat of Lucas' eyes on her face too severe. She couldn't imagine what he was thinking. And to be honest, she really didn't want to know. And so she murmured, "Let's get out of here."

He nodded, and with a cocky smile uttered a few words that, somehow, made everything all right again. "Follow me?

She only smiled.

Lucas extended a hand to her, and she gladly took it, something akin to butterflies fluttering in her stomach when his slender fingers timidly laced through hers. A spark of fire passed between them, and their eyes met for a moment. They both felt the sudden tingling in the air. It was the joining of hands.

And hearts.

And then she followed him, because he was Lucas, and she was Peyton, and this was what they did. They followed each other.

The two walked across town, a comfortable silence filling the air. Peyton sighed in overwhelming, excruciating relief as her feet made light dents in the grass beneath, a small laugh escaping her mouth. Lucas looked at her curiously but wisely said nothing, and for that she was grateful.

Peyton and Lucas reached the river court at last, and she took in the luminous beauty of the night, gazing at the shadowed trees, the twinkling stars, the pale grey cement. It was perfection, she realized, as Lucas swung their entwined hands back and forth.

Until she noticed her sketchbook tucked under Lucas' arms.

She wrenched her hand from his in enraged disbelief, accusing coldly, "What is _that_?"

Lucas' eyes followed her furious gaze, and he gulped guiltily, shifting from one foot to the next as he waited for the burning in her eyes to recede a little.

"Well, I just wanted to ask you –" He finally choked out, his voice much too small for his liking.

But Peyton cut him off. "Ask me what?" Her voice was defiant, and angry, and a little hurt.

He reached out to her with one hand, as if to stroke her cheek, but she cringed, and he faltered. He hung his head in shame, whispering, "I just wanted to ask you why you won't let anyone look at your drawings."

She hissed – it was a reflex by now – and recoiled, as if she had been bitten. She didn't like that he had noticed that, that he had cared enough to ask her about it. But the reasoning behind it wasn't important. All that mattered was that he understand that she wouldn't – couldn't – let anyone see what she drew.

Her eyes were sad when she next spoke. "They're not good enough."

"What do you mean?" Lucas countered, flipping open her sketchbook to a random page, a picture of Brooke lounging by the pool, a smirk on her face. "Peyton, these are damn good and you know it."

But Peyton refused to let him persuade her. There was a reason she wouldn't let anyone see what she drew, a reason she had never tried to win a stupid contest or have her stuff published in some stupid magazine. And somehow, the anger at his invasion – invasion, yes, because she had never meant for him to know so much - became sadness, and a touch of pain flew into her voice. "No," she whispered, averting her eyes, "You don't get to do this."

The tears slipped in her eyes, blurring her vision, and she wondered fleetingly why she had ever broken up with Nathan. She had broken up with him for Lucas, yes, but the other Scott brother just saw too much. He knew too much.

And that was dangerous.

Lucas strode over to her and lifted her chin gently, whispering, "Do what?"

She shook her head and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest, and the two were quiet for a moment before she spoke. "I want to draw something that means something to someone," she murmured, not daring to meet his eyes. "You know, I want to draw blind faith or fading summer or just a moment of clarity."

He stared at her in wonder.

"It's like when you go and you see a really great band live for the first time, you know," she continued, her eyes animated as she flailed her hands in an attempt to illustrate what she was saying, "And nobody's saying it, but everybody's thinking it – 'We have something to believe in again.'"

Her voice trailed off, and the distance shone through her crystal green eyes. Lucas shook his head in admiration.

But there were tears sparkling – again – in those eyes of hers when her next words fell from her lips. "I want to draw that feeling."

There was such longing in her voice that Lucas instinctively, reassuringly, smoothed her hair with his hand and pulled her towards him. But she shoved him away. Not angrily, not irritably. But sadly. As if his presence was too painful for her to bear.

"But, I can't." She sighed. "And if I can't be great at it, then I don't want to ruin it. It's too important to me."

She smiled sadly and whispered, wrapping her arms around him for one bittersweet moment, "I'm sorry, Luke."

She walked away then, and Lucas didn't stop her. He knew she needed time to think, about her art, about Nathan. Even, he allowed himself to think, about _him_.

…

It was night when they next spoke. It was at a basketball game, as most things at Tree Hill High were, and the lights were shining and the court was painted and the boys were ready.

And neither Lucas nor Peyton had any idea what the hell they were going to say to the other.

Lucas paced calmly in the locker room, his eyes locked on the tile floor, ignoring the anger coming off Nathan in roiling waves. He knew better than to provoke his brother by now.

The moments ticked by, and he wondered briefly if he'd see Peyton. He wanted to. At least, he thought he did. But so much had changed. A relationship had ended the night before. He couldn't hope that a new one would begin now.

But he was a writer. And writers hoped for a living.

He smiled wryly, inciting a furious yell from Nathan. "What the hell are you smiling about, punk? We've got a game to play."

Lucas shook his head, laughing inwardly at the jealousy and apprehension flickering in Nathan's darker eyes. He should have known this would happen. He had come into his brother's life suddenly, threatening his spot on the basketball team and his relationship with Peyton. Really, he couldn't expect him to like him.

But did he have to be so obvious about it? The least Nathan could do was ignore his half-brother, for both their sakes.

But he was Nathan Scott, captain of the Tree Hill Ravens, NBA prospect, and proud son of Dan Scott. Subtlety didn't exist for him.

Coach Whitey came into the locker room and glared at the two brothers, his eyes softening only slightly when his gaze fell on Lucas. But then he wiped the smile off his face and pointed towards the court, saying nothing.

And so Lucas followed his brother out the door. And they went to play the only game they still believed in.

…

Peyton, meanwhile, was almost shaking from anxiety. She didn't want to see Nathan, and she certainly didn't want to see Lucas. Not after the way she had stormed off the night before.

And the fact that she was a cheerleader posed a problem. Because she had always cheered for Nathan. Whom would she cheer for now?

She turned to Brooke, wringing her hands in despair. "What do I do?" she wailed, uncharacteristically desperate.

Brooke chuckled throatily and threw her arm over her best friend's shoulders, whispering in her ear, "It's simple, P. Sawyer. All you have to do is go up to him with a seductive look on your face and ask him to sleep with you."

Peyton laughed, the tension seeping out of her. Brooke always had that effect on her. She might have been known as a slut, but she was really just confused and lonely. And she was Peyton's best friend. She knew exactly what to say and when to say it.

But as the game began, as Peyton watched the almost palpable hostility between her ex-boyfriend and her…friend – or whatever he was – she felt the nerves swell in her throat. And nothing Brooke said eased the feeling.

That uncertainty twisted into cruelty – somehow – when Lucas fumbled the ball and looked Peyton's way for a moment. She gulped as his eyes searched her face, and for reasons she would question even years later (sometimes she argued self-defense, other times she argued rashness or some misplaced sense of impulsiveness), she yelled out tauntingly, "Nice hands."

She had to give him credit, though. Because as the words left her mouth, his expression did not change, and he only laughed and shot back, "Nice legs."

Her mouth gaped open in shock, and next to her, Brooke was doubled over in laughter. "I told you, Peyton," she yelped self-satisfactorily.

And Peyton allowed herself a smile, because here at last was someone who could match her in insults. Lucas Scott himself.

And later, as she cheered unenthusiastically, her voice hoarse and tired, "Go Ravens!" and as she noted that her arms felt like lead as the pom-poms shook in her hands, she felt buoyed once again.

Because Lucas called her name and told her, "Your art matters. It's what got me here."

She merely looked at him for a long moment, wonder sparkling as tears in her eyes. And she realized they would be okay. They were friends. They always would be. No fight could ever get in the way. And this was the calm after the storm. The silence after the screams. The snow after the fire.

And the next day, she saw one of her sketches in THUD magazine, and she wondered for a moment why Lucas had chosen to save her.

_tbc_


	3. Sea of Disillusionment

**A/N: So now we come to the love triangle. I know it's been totally overdone, but to me it's still the most interesting part of LP's relationship. So here goes nothing…by the way, only one chapter left!**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is from a song by Christie Josef.**

Chapter 3

Sea of Disillusionment

_Stripped and polished, I am new, I am fresh  
And I am feeling so ambitious, you and me, flesh to flesh  
'Cause every breath that you will take  
When you are sitting next to me  
Will bring life into my deepest hopes  
What's your fantasy?  
- Your Call By Secondhand Serenade_

Weeks passed, as they always had, as they always would. Nothing much changed. Peyton and Lucas were still…Peyton and Lucas.

Or, as Brooke would say, "complicated."

Which was true, really. The tension between them was almost indiscernible, to anyone who didn't know them, to anyone who caught a glimpse of the affection hiding behind veils of green and blue. They seemed happy, in love. They seemed like the perfect high-school sweethearts, destined to part after four years and somehow find their way back to each other.

But they were warring with themselves.

They fought a lot, about things that didn't really matter, and about things that did. Peyton's screech, shrill and outraged, would reach Lucas' ears, and he would raise his hands in self-defense. And then, once the calm had seeped into her eyes, she would mutter something under her breath, low and harsh, and he would forget that he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him. He would lash out at her, the anger in his voice masking everything he fought to avoid.

And in moments like those, it was only too clear to Peyton that they were in the gray area, the line between friendship and whatever else they could be blurred.

And so she ran.

Most times, he followed her, falling into step behind her, his breath matching hers. She liked the steady pounding of feet on street, the hot crunch of gravel beneath her trademark Converse. But she would slow to a walk after a few moments of tireless pursuit, refusing to turn around, because she couldn't face him just yet. And she would trace the sleek streets of Tree Hill, crying softly by her mother's grave as Lucas stood a few feet away, leaning against the tree by the bench she and Brooke always sat on, looking up at every stoplight she passed.

It was an apology, to him, to herself. And, as per the unspoken boundaries of their friendship, neither of them mentioned it after the fact.

But as they tested the limits of each other's patience and self-restraint, Peyton slowly realized that she was more than a little attracted to Lucas.

It wasn't his long, lean torso, etched golden from hours spent in the sun. It wasn't his broad shoulders, the muscles beneath his skin that rippled with every sinewy movement. It wasn't his sometimes spiky, sometimes flat dirty blond locks, locks she often ran her fingers through absentmindedly. And, try as she might, she couldn't convince herself that it was the shape of his face, the soft, slow smile he flashed at her when he thought she wasn't looking at him.

No, it wasn't any of those things. It was his eyes.

_Those _eyes, those piercing, intense blue eyes that delved deeper and deeper into the fragile haven that was Peyton's heart. She knew it was corny to think that, but she couldn't free herself of the sight of his eyes blazing into hers, sparkling with a fervent passion that both surprised her and frightened her.

What was he trying to find? She couldn't help but wonder.

But it wasn't until _that_ day, the cool, fresh spring day that forced Peyton to confront everything she had hoped she wouldn't have to, that she truly understood the emotion behind the ice of his eyes.

Brooke and Peyton strode through the Tree Hill High hallways, arm in arm, chatting animatedly, throwing their heads back in laughter. It was a welcome change, thought Peyton, easy compared to the stressful burden of being with Lucas when nothing had been decided yet. There was no underlying pretense here, no awkward silences. It was just her and Brooke. As it had always been.

And then, of course, as he had so many weeks ago, Lucas Scott completely changed the route Peyton was taking.

"Hey Peyt." He whispered in her ear, making her jump. She heard him laugh, a deep, rumbling chuckle that sent Peyton's blonde curls fluttering around her shoulders, and she shivered involuntarily – everything was involuntary when it came to him. She gulped at his sudden proximity. She had been avoiding moments like these, for this very reason.

Being flustered was not an option for Peyton. It never had been. And she certainly wasn't going to start now, even for Lucas Scott.

"Hey Luke," she returned, trying to sound lighthearted and unruffled and ignoring Brooke's flirty giggle next to her.

The brunette wiggled her fingers in coy greeting at Lucas, and he nodded in reply, his eyes fixed on Peyton. "So," he murmured, "What are the plans for today?" He stressed the word "plans," as if it was something he and Peyton talked about everyday, and lightly placed a hand on her shoulder, his fingers curling around the sleeve of her NOFX shirt.

Peyton tilted her head slightly and glared at him, the corners of her mouth pulling into a smile. She fought the instinct, though, because Brooke speculated about her "relationship" with Lucas enough already. She didn't need another reason to wonder about the mutual – was it mutual? Peyton didn't know – attraction between the two blondes.

But Brooke was better at flirting than Peyton could ever be, and she knew what Lucas was doing.

And so she smiled flirtatiously and pouted in that throaty chuckle of hers, "You're stealing Peyton away from me, Lucas. I never see her anymore."

Color flooded Peyton's cheeks, and she closed her eyes, muttering warningly, "Brooke…'

But Lucas just laughed and walked away.

And that night, everything happened, everything that Peyton had wished she could avoid for as long as possible.

She went to a party at Nathan's house, and she and Lucas stood outside by the crackling fire, acutely aware of the other's presence. She stared at the bright orange flames, striking against the backdrop of the night sky, and thought idly that there was so much to be lost in that fire. Hopes, loves, friendships…it could all disappear, as quickly as it had come.

Life's too short. She realized that she had to take this chance, that she had to give in.

She wanted Lucas, and she had to tell him.

She gasped at the realization and prepared to turn around and tell him, but Brooke didn't give her the chance. She began a game of Truth and Dare with the group clustered around the fire, and Peyton wrung her hands in despair, fretting over the lost moment. She could have told him, she mused, if only Brooke hadn't interrupted them. But then her thoughts refocused, and she wondered what she would have to do in this game.

Brooke smiled wickedly when it was her turn, her gaze falling on her best friend. "Peyton," she murmured, raising her red cup to the girl, nodding, as if toasting her, "I dare you to show us how you _really_ feel."

The crowd murmured in anticipation, wondering what Brooke could possibly mean.

"Kiss Lucas."

A shocked gasp flew through the throngs of people, and Brooke smiled in relish.

Her voice had not been at all malicious. It had held no cruel intent, no mention of jealousy or anger. She was simply encouraging Peyton to let herself have what she wanted. And for that, Peyton was grateful.

She smiled slightly at Brooke and cast a swift glance at Nathan, surprised that she didn't feel any sort of lingering longing when his eyes met hers. Had she really moved on already?

Apparently, she had.

"We're waiting," Brooke sang, giggling. And so Peyton turned to Lucas and placed her hands on his shoulders, trying to gauge his reaction as her fingers burned with the warmth emanating from his body. She looked at him, just looked at him, and for a moment she could really believe that he wanted her the same way he wanted her.

And when her lips found his and she pulled him towards her and her hands clung to him, she realized that she might feel just a little more for him than lust. It scared her, but she held on to him, because everything she felt with him was too beautiful to run away from.

They broke apart, and she walked away. Because no one could know that she had any sort of feelings for him. She and Nathan had only broken up a few weeks ago. Her reputation was too fragile right now.

But she didn't push him away when he found her in Nathan's guesthouse, didn't flinch when he spun her around with one hand and bent his face to meet hers.

And then they were kissing, and she was aching for contact and heat, and she wanted to have him so badly that she forgot herself. "I've wanted this for so long," she panted raggedly, her lips tracing the curve of his neck.

"Me too," he breathed against her skin, chuckling when she trembled beneath his lips.

They kissed frantically for a few more moments, and Peyton bent her head and pressed her face to the cotton undershirt clinging to his taut stomach. He groaned and pulled her face up to meet his, burying his lips in the fragile skin of her slender neck. She whimpered a little and shoved his shirt off his shoulders, gripping his face as her lips moved against his.

It was all so rushed, so lustful, and Lucas pulled back, needing to explain something to Peyton.

"I want this," he whispered, placing a hand on her chest, his fingers pressing to the beat of her heart. "I don't want just this night. I want us. Together."

He paused for a long moment, trying to gauge her reaction, but simply continued when he saw that her face was blank, "I want everything with you."

Peyton's hands went limp on his chest, and she shook her head, her eyes pleading. He only looked at her, the still undefined emotion lingering in his eyes. She wondered, for a brief, bittersweet moment, why she couldn't understand how he felt about her. She couldn't decipher what he said. It was all so confusing.

But then he tenderly stroked her cheek and bent his head to kiss her, his eyelids fluttering closed as his lips gently pressed against hers, his tongue probing for access. She let him kiss her, let him pull her close and breathe her in. And she shivered, because such raw emotion undid her. But she couldn't let go, because his lips were calling up an ancient craving, a passion that she had ignored for far too long. And she clung to him, because he was the only one who had ever made her feel this way. She suspected that he would always be the only one.

And that scared her. She pulled away with a jolting movement, placing her hands firmly on her chest. She looked up at him with frightened eyes and backed away slowly, finally realizing what that emotion in his eyes was.

It was love, and she just couldn't handle it.

She demanded, shoving him backwards, "Why'd you have to ruin it?" She turned her head and forced the words out. "Why couldn't you just leave it alone?"

He shook his head, not comprehending her exact meaning, and reached out to her, lacing his fingers through his. But she only gently pushed him away and strode out the door, not stopping to look back at him.

…

They settled into an uneasy friendship after that, and of course, things were not the same. They couldn't be. She had rejected him, in effect, and he had embarrassed himself. There could be nothing simple about them anymore. Too much had changed.

It was the worst that following Monday, because everyone wanted to know what had happened between the two blondes at the party. They each fielded questions about their kiss during Truth and Dare, and, of course, more than a few people were curious about the fact that they were both conveniently missing after the game.

She caught his eye once during class, and he waited for her afterwards, lounging by the door, hoping to clarify their situation and perhaps ease the discord between them. But as she passed through the doorway, she only quickly entwined her hand with his and whispered, tucking a curl that had escaped from her untidy bun behind her ear, "It's over, Luke."

He cringed at the word and carefully extracted himself from the welcoming grip of her hand, retorting, "What's over, exactly?"

She looked up at him with eyes full of remorse and pity, reaching up on her tiptoes to brush his cheek with her lips as her mouth formed the words that only served to widen the distance between them. "Us, Luke. _This_."

He nodded, but couldn't resist the urge to murmur hopefully, "Can we at least be friends?"

She averted her eyes and whispered, "Not the way we used to be."

And she was right.

…

They no longer exchanged conspiratorial glances when their eyes met in the hallway, no longer spent hours lying on Peyton's bed or lounging by the Rivercourt. They distanced themselves, because they both wanted to salvage what was left of their friendship. They thought that by being apart, they would move past the awkwardness and the pain. They were right, in a sense.

At the very least, it certainly intensified their feelings for each other.

Peyton wasn't surprised when Brooke asked her permission to date Lucas. Over the past few weeks, Peyton had noticed Brooke going out of her way to flirt with the golden-haired boy. Lucas had been kind to her, if not unwilling, and she had taken his compassion and twisted it into affection. Peyton had seen it happening, had seen Brooke's increasing bravery and the way she began to softly, tenderly place a hand on Lucas' shoulder.

It was almost possessive, actually, Peyton had realized.

It was a calm, beautiful afternoon when Brooke mustered the courage to talk to Peyton about the boy they both wanted to stake a claim in.

Peyton saw the steely glint in Brooke's eyes as she strode towards her, saw the strength in her stance and the air of determination about her. But she heard the contradicting hesitation in her best friend's voice when she murmured, "Peyton, there's something I need to talk to you about."

Peyton nodded encouragingly. She had convinced herself not long after she pushed Lucas away that she didn't care about him. She had suppressed any lingering feelings she had for him, because to feel anything at all for him was far too dangerous a notion for her to entertain. And so the fact that Brooke had romantic intentions towards Lucas did not bother her.

At least, she thought it didn't.

Brooke folded and unfolded her hands nervously for a long moment before blurting out, "I like Lucas."

Peyton smiled slightly at her friend's obvious discomfort and thought for a moment about what to say. She didn't want to reveal that this bothered her. If, in fact, it did, which she strongly suspected was not the truth. But regardless, she didn't want Brooke to think that liking Lucas was a bad thing. Because it wasn't. It was, actually, a very good idea.

And so she whispered bluntly, shaking her head in amusement, "I know."

"You do?" Brooke was incredulous, and rightly so. Peyton hadn't exactly shown interest in anything concerning Lucas for the last few weeks.

Peyton nodded. "Of course I do," she chided Brooke gently, elbowing her in the stomach playfully, "You haven't exactly been subtle about it."

And she really hadn't. She had outright flirted with Lucas, bending down in front of him in cleavage-baring shirts, flipping her hair with abandon, chuckling loudly and often in an even sultrier tone than she usually used. But then again, subtlety had never been Brooke' style.

Brooke blushed and asked curiously, "So does this mean you don't mind if I ask Lucas out?"

"Of course not!" Peyton exclaimed, wondering as she spoke the words if they were actually true. She had never really liked Lucas, she reasoned. She had only been attracted to him much more than was healthy. And thankfully, she realized, that wasn't a feeling she should hold onto. Indifference was much easier to battle, much easier to cope with.

Brooke shrugged her petite shoulders skeptically and questioned, "Are you sure?"

And Peyton nodded, turning her head as she did, because, as most people know, lies are contained in your eyes. Peyton could not afford for Brooke to look into her green eyes, because at that moment, too much pain and indecision flickered through them. It was easier if Brooke didn't see those emotions.

Brooke threw her arms around her friend, gushing, "Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you!" She pulled away enthusiastically and walked away, singing over her shoulder, "I'll call you with the details later!"

And then she was gone, and Peyton was left wondering what she was supposed to do now.

…

The day passed too slowly for her. She saw too many people, answered too many questions. There was too much going on. She barely had time to breathe, let alone think.

But think she did. She thought about the first moment she saw Lucas, that moment when their eyes met across a crowded room and her hands trembled as he slowly winked at her. She thought about the first words they exchanged, how he saved her from Nathan's lecherous grip. She thought about their meeting by her car, his quick analysis of her and her contradictory reply. She thought about everything that had happened since then, the moments they had spent talking about their lives and their problems and all the stupid things teenagers talk about.

And then her mind shifted when she recalled the awkward memory of that night, the night the passion between them suddenly flamed and ignited, leaving them both struggling to recover.

She wanted that back, she suddenly realized. She wanted to be with him like that, to stroke his rough-shaven cheek with her comparatively smooth hand, to run her slender fingers through his messy locks, to press her lips to his and run her tongue along the glistening edge of his teeth. She wanted to lace her fingers through his and wrap her arms around him and breathe in his distinctly masculine smell.

She wanted _him_. And not just in a sexual way. She wanted him, all of him. She wanted to walk down the hallways holding his hand, wanted to rest her head on his shoulder as they watched horror movies in her house on Friday nights. She wanted to refer to him as her "boyfriend," wanted to throw his name into casual conversations and push him against her locker while he unashamedly groped her. She wanted to lie awake at night next to him, wanted to make love to him while the rain pattered against her paned windows.

She wanted to _love _him. It scared her, but there it was.

And the realization sent her walking towards his house days afterward, after she had finally made up her mind about what to say to him. She was determined to get him back – if she had ever had him, that is. She knew she wanted him, knew she needed him, knew if that he gave her the chance, she could love him with all her heart.

She knocked on his door shortly before dusk one evening, her heart pounding incessantly in her chest. She had never felt more nervous. Nor, she was surprised to find, more eager.

He flung open the door and gazed at her for a long moment, something akin to agony flickering in the icy depths of his crystalline eyes. She trembled in the heat of his penetration, trying to maintain her composure. But as her searching eyes traced the planes of the face she had once held in her hands, she realized that around him, she didn't want to be calm. She didn't want to rein in the powerful feelings threatening to consume her. She wanted to be herself.

It was a strangely liberating thought, and without hesitating, she threw herself at Lucas, wrapping her arms around him as she had dreamt about doing for so many sleepless nights.

But he pushed her away. Gently, kindly, but firmly. And as his face moved further and further away from hers, she mustered the courage to voice the words she had fought so hard to conjure.

"Lucas," she whispered, resisting the urge to grip his hands in hers, "I made a mistake that night." She knew she didn't have to specify which night it was. There was only one night that she had run away. That, she knew, was an action that he would no doubt see as a mistake. Because it was.

He whispered warningly, "Peyton…"

But she forged on ahead, because she needed him, and she had to fight for him. "I ran away, because all I wanted was sex."

She closed her eyes, images she had fought to suppress reappearing, flickering through her thoughts. She didn't exactly want to remember that night, the night she had done so many things wrong and not nearly enough things right. But if only for him, she had to face the memories.

She opened her eyes and willed herself to say, "But now…now I want the same things you wanted that night."

Lucas shook his head, his jaw clenching, the way it always did when he was warring with himself. It was an encouraging sign for Peyton; it meant that her speech was at least having some effect on him.

And so she took a deep breath and tilted her head, murmuring, her eyes meeting his, "I want everything. And I want it with you."

She waited for his reply, waited for him to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her hair and whisper that everything would be all right. It was what she expected to happen. After all, it was what had always happened with Nathan. They would fight, they would break up, they would forgive, they would forget. It had come to seem like the model of a healthy relationship to Peyton.

But, as she would soon realize, normal, healthy, happy couples did not continually, persistently fight about inconsequential things. Happy couples did not forgive each other for misdemeanors that should never be condoned.

And as she would also soon realize, Lucas Scott was nothing like Nathan. He would not forgive her for the things Nathan had so easily forgiven her for.

It was a shock, though, when Lucas adamantly shook his head – yet again – and said nothing.

She reeled back instinctively, flinching as if he had struck her. She closed her eyes, relishing the darkness, and hoped that this was all just a dream and that she had not just humiliated herself in front of the guy she had thought she could love. She could not face the truth. Dreams were easier to cope with. And had she known it would only get worse, she would have ran away then. But she still entertained a small dot of hope, that silver lining. It was possible, wasn't it?

No, she realized. It wasn't. Because as she heard the wood floor creak and her eyes flicked to the open door of Lucas' bedroom, she saw Brooke, and reality sunk in. She could never be with Lucas. She was too tortured, too messed up. He deserved someone who could be cheery, someone who laughed all the time and was bubbly and excited. He deserved someone like Brooke.

And as Peyton's discerning gaze passed over Brooke's svelte figure, she saw that her best friend's legs were bare, and she recognized the sweatshirt she was wearing. It was Lucas'.

And so Peyton smiled awkwardly and whispered, "Oh, sorry. I was just leaving."

Brooke smiled hesitantly, and Peyton returned the gesture, because there was nothing that mattered more to her than preserving her and Brooke's friendship. It would kill her to pretend that nothing had happened between her and Lucas. But she had to do it.

And as she left Lucas' house, she wondered why she had run away that night, a night that seemed so long ago now. Because in running away, she had lost everything.

_tbc_


	4. But Another Thing To Fall

**A/N: So…last chapter. Thank you so much for reading and joining me on this ride. **

**I apologize for the semi-abrupt ending, but it makes sense to me and it felt like a natural place to end. With this story I really just wanted to explore that first season, when Brooke and Peyton first fell for Lucas. Let me know if I succeeded! **

**P.S. The title is from Shakespeare's **_**Measure for Measure**_**.**

Chapter 4

But Another Thing To Fall

_I always wonder if there's a chance  
That maybe you know what this is like  
It's like a bloodstain  
And it's spreading across my chest  
And I've been bleeding for so long  
I think this heart of mine deserves a rest  
- Give Up Giving In by Amanda Marshall_

Peyton didn't know how to act around them, really. It was awkward and painful and entirely too exhausting to even attempt to talk to them, whether collectively or individually.

And so she barely talked at all.

Because she missed Lucas, and she hated herself for all the chances she had let pass her by. It was simply too much for her to bear.

She would watch Lucas drape his arm around Brooke's shoulders, his icy blue eyes tracing the waves of her dark hair and the curve of her brown eyes. She would watch Brooke lightly place her hand in Lucas' back pockets, her fingers curling around the fabric of his jeans. She would watch all this, and she would cringe and stride down the hallway in the opposite direction, not bothering to explain her sudden departure.

In moments like those, Peyton realized that she had fallen for Lucas, really fallen for him. Fallen as she had never fallen for anyone before, not even Nathan. Or, rather, _especially_ Nathan.

And that scared her. And so she didn't approach Lucas about his relationship with Brooke, and she didn't try to tell him how she felt again. It just wasn't worth it.

And eventually, she got used to the idea of Brooke and Lucas dating, and it didn't feel like her heart was being ripped out every time she saw them together. Of course, a pain like the one that had shattered her heart beyond repair couldn't _really_ disappear that fast. At least, not for her.

…

But as the days passed, the awkward glances that flitted between Lucas and Peyton were fewer and further between, and Brooke fell into a glazed stupor that passed a film over her dancing eyes. She was falling for Lucas, Peyton realized. And with that knowledge came the firm belief that Peyton could not, under any circumstances, allow herself to long for Lucas. Her best friend was dating him. Everyone knows the girl code.

But for Peyton, it was easier said than done.

Because the deep ache that had settled in her stomach shortly after she had told Lucas how she felt did not dissipate. It remained, and the pressure on her chest built with every gaze at Brooke's blissful expression.

Things got better, though. Eventually.

When Peyton's dad came to visit her, the very sky seemed to hum in approval; the clouds fled and the sun bled orange and pink across the horizon. It was peaceful, just as she was. Because at least for those few days, she felt like everything would be okay. She would get over Lucas, and her friendship with Brooke would remain untarnished.

And even when her father met Lucas and nicknamed him Rake Boy, and even when she and the two most important men in her life (i.e. her dad and Lucas, where once it had been her dad and Nathan) ate dinner together...even then, Peyton didn't allow herself to acknowledge the perfection of such a moment. Because that knowledge threatened to destroy her carefully cultivated façade.

And so she ignored it. She ignored it, and she waited for those feelings to pass.

A few days later, her dad left for his next drudging job, and her longing for a family dinner with Lucas subsided as quickly as it had come. She was almost glad, really. Almost.

But not quite.

Because she knew now what a future with Lucas would be like, and she wanted it. She wanted it so badly that the next day, when Brooke confessed that she was falling for him, Peyton could barely fake happiness. She wasn't happy that Brooke actually cared about Lucas. She wasn't happy that Lucas evidently cared about Brooke.

She was mad. She had been with him first, she reasoned. He was hers first. Didn't that mean anything?

No, she realized. It meant nothing, because she had run from him. She had run, and in turn, he had run to Brooke. But she could never be so harsh as to consider Brooke "the rebound girl." She was anything but.

And that same day, Peyton realized that she had to put her feelings for Lucas aside. Her suspicions about the way Brooke felt about Lucas had now been confirmed, and she could no longer avoid the truth: Brooke and Lucas were a real couple and had the potential to last a few months.

And so when Lucas and Brooke came over to help remake Peyton's car as a surprise for her dad, Peyton resolved to be a better friend to Brooke. She smiled amiably at Lucas and linked arms with Brooke, chatting animatedly about nonsense and gossip. She knew, of course, that Lucas would look at her in astonishment – she had barely made eye contact with him over the past month – but she ignored his reaction. Because all that mattered was that she and Brooke remain friends.

It grew harder as the day wore on, as she suspected, and it would only get harder. But she fought the urge to cry and scream and fight for Lucas. She fought that urge, because she was strong, and she would not let a guy ruin she and Brooke's friendship.

And then the phone rang.

…

She listened in shocked silence as the Coast Guard described the situation, and there were tears in her eyes when she went outside to tell Brooke and Lucas. The couple looked at her worriedly, their eyes flashing with concern, and whispered in sync, "What's wrong?"

Peyton hung her head, refusing to let the tears fall. "It's my dad," she whispered, and Brooke instinctively moved to her side, as best friends do. "There's this really bad storm where he's at. I'm worried about him."

"Have you tried calling him?" Brooke asked softly, trying to contain her own anxiety.

"He's not answering," Peyton whispered, her eyelids fluttering closed, as if in exhaustion.

"Just breathe, Peyt," Brooke advised, rubbing her back in smooth circles, "I'm sure he's fine."

Peyton did as she was told but ignored Brooke's previous statement. She wasn't sure she wanted to hope that her dad would be okay, if it would only end in disappointment. People always leave, she reminded herself.

In the silence that followed, Lucas asked Peyton softly, "But he'd be out on one of those big boats now, wouldn't he?"

Peyton shook her head, her throat constricting as she gasped for air. "No," she whimpered, pain seeping into her eyes. "Right now, he'd be in his drudging boat. And that's not good."

Brooke and Lucas exchanged frustrated, worried glances, and the three were silent for a long moment.

And then the phone rang. Again.

…

Peyton ran to get it, shutting her bedroom door behind her, and Brooke and Lucas pressed their ears to the door, trying to understand what was being said. But they could hear nothing, only murmurs and occasional sobs. They knew the news couldn't be good.

When Peyton returned, her face was ashen and her eyes were lifeless. "They found his drudging boat," she choked, and Brooke and Lucas smiled, relieved at the good news.

But Peyton shook her head sadly, finishing, "On the shore."

Brooke clapped a hand over her mouth, and Lucas clenched his jaw. Peyton whispered, "They found a body."

Brooke let out a strangled sob, and Lucas squeezed her hand tightly as the words that changed them all left Peyton's mouth.

"They need me to go identify it and see if it's…him."

She sighed, as if in resignation, and Brooke shook her head in disbelief. She whispered soothingly, wiping tears from her eyes, "Peyton, I'm so sorry. We'll go with you. Right, Lucas?"

Lucas nodded, his eyes fixed on the defeated slump Peyton had sank into. He wished he knew how to fix this for her. He wished he could help her somehow.

"It's a four-hour drive," Peyton whispered numbly, shaking her head. "One of us should stay by the phone."

"I will," Brooke volunteered confidently. Peyton and Lucas both turned to look at her, a little bit astonished at her initiative, and she shrugged nonchalantly.

"Lucas, you should go with Peyton," Brooke offered, causing both blondes to stare at her again, this time in disbelief. Did she really trust them to keep their hands off each other for four hours – possibly longer, what with traffic and rain and delays?

Apparently, she did.

"Sawyer, you know I'm not exactly good with crisis," Brooke continued. "I'll probably just start freaking out, and you _so_ do not need that."

Lucas shook his head, asking doubtfully, "Are you sure…?"

"Yes," Brooke said simply. And in that moment, Peyton truly admired her for her strength. She knew she would never have the courage to send her boyfriend and her best friend off on a road trip together.

And so she only nodded, still a little unsure, and Brooke wrapped her arms around her, whispering reassuringly, "I'm sure he's all right, Peyt."

She proceeded to lightly kiss Lucas on the lips and murmur, "Take care of her for me, okay?"

Lucas laughed softly. "Of course."

And then they left, Lucas secretly eager at the chance to be alone with Peyton, Peyton too scared and worried to fully comprehend what had just happened.

…

The drive to the drudging boat dock was mostly silent. Peyton was terrified, and she trembled so much that Lucas had to soothe her with a gentle touch at almost every stoplight. It would have been frustrating, he suspected, if he didn't care about her so much. Maybe too much, he mused. And he understood her anxiety, he did; her mother had died not so long ago, and he wasn't so naïve as to believe that because of that she wouldn't lose her father as well. It could happen. And he was sure Peyton knew that, too.

He did what he could to help, pulling her close as he drove, squeezing her hand whenever a shiver rippled through her frail body and she shuddered. He wished she would sleep, wished she would let herself relax. But he knew her too well to expect that.

They said little, of course, instead relying on each other for constant contact. Neither of them felt guilty about it. Surely, Brooke had decided to trust them, in letting them go on a four-hour drive without her, they reasoned. It didn't occur to them that they should take care not to abuse that trust.

They reached the small town in a little over four hours. Peyton sat up quickly, not bothering to ease herself out of the welcoming grip of Lucas' arm around her shoulder, and confirmed sharply, "We're here, aren't we?"

Lucas nodded, murmuring a bit unsteadily, "Yeah, we're here."

But as they drove towards the coroner's office, they noticed a sign that destroyed all their hopes.

"Just our luck," Peyton grumbled, feeling like she would gladly stomp her foot if she didn't think Lucas would laugh at her for it. "The coroner's office is closed. Of course."

Lucas sighed audibly, and she turned to glare at him. He raised his hands, as if in self-defense, and she nodded subtly, acknowledging that there was no uncertainty, no disagreement lingering between them. At least, not yet.

They were quiet for a moment, looking at the sign posted on the coroner's office door. It seemed like nothing was going right for them today.

"We'll just have to sleep here tonight," Lucas finally reasoned, rubbing the back of his neck so adorably that Peyton had to close her eyes to escape the sight.

"Okay," she replied, the darkness behind her eyelids saving her from possible embarrassment and/or deceit. "We'll just go to the coroner's office in the morning."

Lucas nodded, and they began to drive to the nearest motel they could find. Peyton called Brooke quickly, letting her know about their plans, and then she and Lucas just sat in silence.

The rain was quiet, insistent, comfortable, even, and Peyton felt safe and protected. She and Lucas would spend the night in the motel, and in the morning, they would identify the body the Coast Guard had retrieved. And it wouldn't be her father. She was certain of that, for some reason.

Lucas and Peyton rented a room quickly and found it just as quickly. They were both anxious for this trip to end; they wanted to go to sleep and wake up and go home, because there was so much left unspoken between them that even a moment more would force the truth out of them.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Lucas offered as he and Peyton stumbled into their room, their eyes bleary, their voices hazy with exhaustion.

Peyton shook her head lazily, immediately curling up on the bed, whispering into the darkness, "Don't be silly, Luke."

He nodded, taking his place next to her on the bed, and murmured soothingly, his hand resting on the subtle curve of her hip, "He'll be okay, Peyt. I promise."

She wanted to believe him, she really did. But his promises were so often broken. And she was just tired of it all. She was tired of trying to pretend she didn't wish she had run away from Lucas at Nathan's party. She was tired of telling Brooke over and over again that she was okay with her and Lucas' relationship. She was tired of _hiding_. It was all she had been doing lately.

And so she merely whispered, "Thank you." And then, they both tried to sleep, both tried to ignore the other's presence.

Peyton hardly slept, of course. She was worried, and anxious, and so scared she thought she might collapse from terror. But Lucas' presence was strangely calming, and as the rain pattered on the glass windows and the storm gradually lessened, she found herself drifting off. She dreamt of nothing, really, just shapes and colors that spun and faltered in the darkness. It was peaceful, almost, to escape the pure agony that consumed her most days.

She tried not to realize that Lucas was the reason she was able to sleep at all.

…

She awoke shortly before 4:30, far earlier than she had woken up in a long time. Just as she stretched her arms above her head, the door to the motel room opened, and Lucas walked in, carrying a brown paper bag and two coffee cups. Peyton shook her head ruefully, realizing that she hadn't even noticed that he was gone in the first place, and beckoned for him to come closer.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered, leaning over and dropping a kiss on her forehead. She closed her eyes and smiled gratefully, reaching for the coffee he carefully placed in her outstretched hands.

"You didn't," she reassured him, delicately sipping her coffee while he yawned and watched her cautiously, as if he was afraid she might fall apart at any moment.

After a long moment, Lucas broke the silence, asking tentatively, "Are you ready?"

She grasped her coffee tighter, waiting until the word she spoke would be true. "Yes," she finally whispered.

Lucas nodded and murmured, "We should go, then."

She nodded in return and attempted a smile, but stopped her effort when she saw the alarm in Lucas' eyes. She guessed she wasn't that convincing.

She stood up after a moment, nodding again to Lucas, and shrugged into her jacket, flinging open the motel door and rushing towards the car.

The pair drove to the coroner's office in a comfortable silence. Neither one of them felt the need to say anything, for entirely different reasons.

Peyton was screaming inside; she was nearly delirious with worry, and the light pressure of Lucas' hand on hers did little to ease the tension. Lucas, meanwhile, couldn't help stealing glances at the blonde seated next to him. She was far too beautiful for her own good.

But finally, they reached their destination, and Peyton felt like she could breathe again. Lucas looked at her quizzically before they got out of the car, and when she nodded, he simply opened her car door for her and took her hand in his again. Somehow, she reasoned, he knew that contact was what she needed right now.

She didn't allow herself to think about what might happen in the coroner's office. She knew she couldn't handle the stress.

She closed her eyes and let Lucas lead her into the mortuary, where he gave the coroner Peyton's name because she couldn't speak just yet. She let go of Lucas' hand after a moment and crossed her arms, as if to protect herself.

But her hands quickly fell to her sides as the fateful moment approached. She clenched her fists as the coroner rolled out the white-clothed body, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. In some unacknowledged recess of her mind, she dimly registered Lucas' fingers curling around her hand, gently prying her fist open. She didn't dare turn to look at him; she was afraid that his eyes would send tears rushing down her cheeks. Instead, she merely let him lace his fingers through hers. The pressure of his hand on hers was more welcome than she would ever admit.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded to the coroner and waited numbly.

It was a strange thing, really, to be confronted with the possibility of her father's death. Death had touched Peyton before, but only now was she old enough to fully understand it. Old enough to realize that her mother would never come back to her, and that the pain of such a loss would never fully lessen. All that had changed in the years since that one red light was Peyton's ability to grasp and cope with reality.

She wasn't sure if she liked it that way. Sometimes, she wanted to be a child again. Life had seemed easier then.

And now, as she gazed at the face of a man who must have been someone's father, someone's husband, someone's son…she wrenched her hand from Lucas' strong grip and covered her mouth in terror. Hot relief sank into her skin, and she absorbed it in shock.

It wasn't her dad.

But it could have been. It could have been, and she turned her face and let her head fall on Lucas' chest, allowing herself to feel the agony and piercing joy of such a moment. It was too much to bear, too much to take in. Tears didn't fall, not then, but she collapsed against Lucas, and he bore her weight, as he always had whenever the surrounding darkness seemed to close in on her.

They broke apart after a moment, and Peyton thanked him wordlessly with her eyes. He nodded, and, taking her hand in his again, whispered, "Let's get you home, okay?"

She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder as he led her out the door of the coroner's office and onto the bright street. She squinted in the sudden sunlight, shielding her eyes from the penetrating glare, but then threw her hands off her face and spun around joyously. The storm of the night before had left the sky fresh and clear, and she felt as if it was promising a new beginning. Almost as if it was apologizing for all the worry it had caused her.

And so she closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sky, waving her arms in the relaxed air and dancing to music that only she could hear.

Lucas stared at her in unconcealed wonder, shaking his head in amusement. She was so different from the girl he had thought he knew for most of high school. She had seemed so inaccessible then, so cold and irrational. But the girl before him was anything but cold. She was exuberant, and relieved, and so beautiful he couldn't – physically couldn't – tear his gaze from her undulating body.

But he knew he shouldn't have been looking at her in anything but a friendly way, and closed his eyes and forced himself to choke out, "What are you _doing_?"

She opened her eyes lazily and drawled, "This is one of those moments, Luke."

"One of what moments?" he asked in bemusement

She pranced over to him, eyes half-closed in dazed contentment, and murmured softly, "One of those moments I've always wanted to draw."

Lucas laughed, wrapping his arms around her in a sinuous movement that almost left her breathless. She sighed in pure relief and let her body mold to the shape of his, her head nestling the crook of his shoulder. She purred softly, her lips reaching for the hollow beneath his throat, and his hand found the top of her head as he pulled her closer. It was a serene, easy moment. It was, frankly, a relief after such a stressful day.

Lucas ran his hands down Peyton's arms, searching for her fingers, and she gasped in shock. There was something missing, something that was _not_ dangling from her wrist.

"My bracelet," she breathed, wrenching her arms from Lucas' grip in a frenzy. Her eyes fell to her left hand, and she swayed on her feet.

Lucas caught her as she fell, his hands skimming her collarbone as he murmured anxiously, "Peyt, what's wrong?"

She stumbled and repeated, "The bracelet my dad gave me. It's gone."

"Gone?" Lucas asked dumbly, trying to keep her on her feet even as she faltered.

She nodded, comprehension dawning on her face, and mused, "It must be in the motel."

"The motel?"

Peyton nodded, and Lucas furrowed his brow in contemplation, muttering after a moment, "Then we'll go to the motel."

She nodded again, her eyes blank, the light having fled, and he gazed at her for a long moment. There was something so very wrong reflected in that green. Something so far removed from the girl he had fallen –

No, he reminded himself. He had not fallen in love with her. He had fallen in _lust _with her. There was a difference.

And so he shook his head vehemently, as if shaking himself free of the thought of what could have been, and resolved to be faithful to Brooke. He was a good person, he told himself, and his mother had not raised him to be the kind of guy who cheated on his girlfriend.

Now that his intentions were pure, he reasoned, it would perfectly all right to at least comfort the blond girl shaking in front of him. She was Brooke's friend. Brooke would have wanted him to help her in any way he could.

He brought Peyton closer to him yet again and whispered in her ear, trying to ignore the visible shiver that ripped through her when his lips touched her skin, "We'll find it. I promise."

She closed her eyes fretfully and reached for his hand anxiously, sighing when his fingers wrapped around hers. He gladly squeezed her hand and tugged her close to his side in blind determination, pulling her down the street and towards his car. He flung open the door and almost violently pushed her onto the seat, running around to his side. Before even a minute had passed, he had gripped the steering wheel and put the car into gear.

They were at the motel within moments.

Peyton all but leapt out of the car, forgetting about Lucas and their complicated relationship – or lack thereof. She needed to find her bracelet. That was all that really mattered, at least for the moment.

She didn't bother to glance at the sun or the sky as she neared the room she was looking for. She didn't turn around to acknowledge the steady footsteps behind her that she was sure belonged to Lucas. She only had eyes for the room where her bracelet was.

When she arrived at her destination, her gaze landed on the numbers she knew suddenly she would remember forever: 657. Without a second thought, she thrust herself through the doorway of the room she and Lucas had entered only the night before, her eyes flitting across the dingy walls. She racked her brain, trying to remember where she had last seen her bracelet before she and Lucas went to the coroner's office, but the memory was irretrievable.

And so she simply began to search the room meticulously, not allowing herself to consider the possibility that the bracelet was not there.

But time passed, and still the glint of silver failed to catch her eye. Despite her frantic attempts, the location of the bracelet eluded her. Her eyes glazed with tears, she reached for the trinket again and again, although she knew instinctively she wouldn't find what she so desperately longed to hold in her hands. It was a thought that sent her flying across the bed, her fingers crumpling the covers anxiously.

Behind her, Lucas made comforting noises, and as the trembling built in her hands and the sorrow danced in her eyes, he whispered, "Peyton, come here."

She shook her head, shaking with disbelief, willing herself to keep looking, though her efforts seemed futile. He sighed, and she knew he was rubbing the back of his neck. The whisper of his hand through the air calmed her some, and she stood up from the bed, still turned away from him.

He longed to take her into his arms, but he couldn't afford to push her away with words of comfort. He was silent for a long moment, trying to find the words to save her from herself without making her run from him, but his efforts died on his loose tongue. There was too much he wanted to say to her. Simplicity no longer existed for them.

He finally managed to murmur, "Come to me, Peyt."

Peyton wanted to believe that he could ease the pain that had manifested itself in her heart, but she knew better. He was with Brooke now. His promises to Peyton could only be lies, his touches only guilt-ridden, lust-driven advances. She didn't want that. Not for him. She didn't mind so much herself – any touch at all from him would have been more than enough to sustain her – but he deserved better. _Brooke _deserved better.

And yet…Peyton couldn't deny the warmth that fluttered in her long-frozen heart when Lucas uttered those three words. It all suddenly seemed very glorious, the delicate symphony of his voice seeping into her muscles and soothing her frayed nerves. It was strange, really, the effect he seemed to have on her.

She could no longer resist the almost magnetic pull pushing her in his direction. With a resigned sigh, she let out a strangled sob and catapulted herself into his waiting arms, burying her head in his shoulder as he whispered soothingly, "You're okay now. You're okay."

She pulled away after a moment, tears trembling on her eyelids as she fought the urge to just stay in his arms forever. It would have been easy, she knew. Easier than anything she had ever done.

But she smiled slightly, trying not to question the moment, and let her hands trace the chiseled planes of his face. Her fingers curled around his lips as she let her gaze roam towards his eyes, and his eyelids fluttered slowly.

She let out a small laugh, but bit her tongue in a feeble attempt to fight the words swelling in her throat. The concern flitting through his icy blue eyes broke down so many of her walls, and she was suddenly afraid that if given the chance, she would confess everything she had held inside. If he so much as said a word, she would release the torrent of feelings held captive by her own moral obligations. And she couldn't let that happen. She didn't want to tell Lucas how she felt, not now. He was with Brooke, not her.

Lucas whispered, "Peyton…"

She sighed and closed her eyes, stepping away from him immediately. She knew that tone of his, heard the note of regret lingering in his voice. It meant that she had taken it too far. It meant that she shouldn't have gotten so close to him, not after everything that had happened between them.

But his hands found hers, and his fingers reached for hers, entwining and lacing, stroking and releasing. She heard her sharp intake of breath before she felt it, but she only reveled in the darkness behind her eyelids and leaned into him.

She let him grasp her hand, let him bring their clasped hands to his mouth and pepper light kisses along her wrist. She let him place a hand on her back and pull her towards him, let him bury his head in her tangled curls and whisper, "I'm here for you."

It was a mantra between them. Those words made up the phrase that had saved her so many times. And, she realized, it was perhaps one of the only strands left of their tenuous relationship.

She wanted it back. All of it back. She wanted a second chance with him.

And suddenly, tears fell down her face, tears of relief and sorrow and shock. She had been holding them back, for both her and Lucas' sake, but now, she could not stop them. Because a part of her could not believe that in the tumult of a day like today, she had managed to let her thoughts dwell on Lucas. Despite the very real possibility of her father's death, the urge to kiss the blue-eyed, light-haired boy standing before her still consumed her.

Was that a sign?

She really didn't know, but she tilted her head slightly, gazing into Lucas' eyes, and searched the deep blue for comfort. He smiled a little and whispered, "It's okay to cry, Peyt. It's okay."

A completely irrational desire to lift his shirt off his sculpted chest and press her face to the hollow of his throat flooded her senses. She couldn't really do that, couldn't betray Brooke and make Lucas feel guilty. But she needed more contact than the heat of his hand on hers, the weight of his body as she leaned against him. Because he was looking at her as if he wanted to hold her…

There was affection flickering through those eyes of his, and his lips were curling in compassion and longing. She knew that look. She had seen it many times. He wanted her, yes, wanted to ravish her 'til she screamed his name.

But it was more than that. There was hope and longing – not lust, but pure, unadulterated _longing_ – embedded in the depths of his smile, and she knew that he didn't just want her for sex. And now, somehow, that didn't scare her. She wanted that, too. She wanted more from him.

And so she kissed him.

Her lips molded to his, and she sighed in contentment as his tongue darted past her open lips and into the sinews of her open mouth. They broke apart after a short moment – too short, Peyton mused – and he looked at her with such determination in his eyes that she had to brace herself against the wave of shock. Because this was Lucas Scott. And he was staring at her, Peyton Sawyer, with something akin to love. Not love, exactly, she ventured – they hadn't known each other long enough for that. But something close enough to love that fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

She didn't have her father's bracelet to protect her from all the pain in the world. But she had Lucas. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

For reasons she would dissect even years later – although that wasn't really a rare occurrence, considering the strange twists and turns of she and Lucas' relationship – Lucas cupped the back of her neck with one hand and pulled her close with the other. And then he kissed her back.

And she let him kiss her, because the hot ache that had settled in her stomach so many weeks ago refused to be quelled. She breathed in the light scent of summer air clinging to his neck, and her hands flew up to meet his face as his lips gently but insistently pushed against hers. He didn't ravish her with his hands and lips, as she had hoped, but instead rested both hands on her waist as she laced her arms around her neck. Somehow, it was better that way. More personal, more precious.

He began to walk her backwards, as if to the bed, and she gulped. But not in hesitation. Because she realized that she was past denying herself the pleasure of kissing Lucas. It was selfish to finally give in to the urge, she knew, but she could no longer resist the ice in his eyes. He meant so much to her. She couldn't walk away from him. Not this time.

He pulled away from her lips for a moment, leaving her hopelessly bereft and longing for his touch. She gasped for air, an awkward, embarrassing reaction for her, and searched his face for signs of indecision. But the question in her eyes must have strengthened his resolve, for he gripped the lapels of her jacket and shoved them off her shoulders. Not harshly, but quickly enough that she suspected that he had been wanting this for a long time.

Just as she had.

The realization that the hole in her heart had been a part of Lucas as well made her brave, and she nodded vehemently. He gazed into her eyes for a moment, waiting for something – consent, perhaps? – and she smiled encouragingly.

She didn't think it was strange that neither of them mentioned Brooke as they began to deceive the girl they both loved. The thought of her didn't escape their lips. Because although they both knew the repercussions of their actions, and although they were both ashamed of themselves for even considering doing what they were about to do...they could not stop themselves.

And so they simply didn't try.

Lucas bent his head, reaching for Peyton's lips again, and she gladly granted him access, falling back onto the bed as he pulled her sweater over her head. Strangely, she didn't feel self-conscious in just her tank top. There was something about Lucas that simply banished all fear. Or, rather, all rational thought.

She smiled as Lucas stripped off his shirt, leaving his chest bare as he heaved a breath. She stared at him quietly, absorbing the sight of his tan skin as he lingered above her, resting his weight on his hands on either side of her head. She wasn't sure if she would be blessed with such a sight ever again. And so she let all the details sink in: the sculpted muscles rippling through his arms, the broad planes of his defined chest. But, more than that, the love flickering through his lust-darkened eyes. It was gratifying, really, the affection lurking in those endless depths.

It made her feel beautiful. Which, she supposed, made sense. He was such a beautiful man. Not attractive. Beautiful. They were meant to do this.

Irrational, she knew. But she had to justify her actions or she would never rid herself of the guilt.

She didn't voice her thoughts, of course. She knew better. But some part of her wondered if he wouldn't want to hear what she was thinking. He had always wanted to see inside her mind. It was who he was.

But she pushed that thought away, instead giving in to every sensation Lucas' touches were inspiring in her body. Her eyes fluttered of their own volition as his fingers danced across the hem of her white shirt and slowly raised it, exposing a few inches of her bare, suddenly sensitive skin. He bent his head and kissed down her stomach, inciting a light shiver from her as she trembled beneath him. Just as his lips reached her waistband, he lifted himself slightly off her and captured her lips with his.

She let out a small moan and whispered, "Lucas…"

In retrospect, she wasn't sure why she uttered his name. There was really no reason. But, although she would never admit it, she needed some confirmation that this wasn't just sex for him, that this was more than pent-up desire finally unleashing itself.

But then she realized it really wasn't necessary to ask any questions. Because Lucas had been having sex with Brooke. Peyton was sure Brooke was pleasuring him more than he needed. Of course whatever was happening between Peyton and Lucas wasn't just sex.

Peyton immediately felt guilty for thinking such a treacherous thought about her own best friend, but quickly dismissed the thought, ready to go back to kissing Lucas.

It occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, sex with Lucas would be different from sex with Nathan. Sex with Nathan had always felt forced, as if they were only doing it because they were supposed to. But with Lucas…with Lucas, it might actually something.

The thought _almost_ scared her away. Almost. But not quite.

As she opened her eyes and let her gaze rise to meet Lucas', she wondered why he hadn't kissed her again yet. But then she saw the flickering hesitation in his eyes, and she knew that whatever walls they had built up to protect them from the outside world had crumbled the moment she had whispered his name. Because her voice had wrenched them back to reality. And now there was only them left, only the two of them. Just Peyton and Lucas, clothes almost shed, skin meeting skin, hair tangled and hands entwined.

And suddenly, it was as if light had streamed in through the windows and the two people huddled on the bed had been cast in shadow. Cold, dark, broken.

And so they pulled apart, and Lucas stood up, and they both whispered, as if in defeat, "Brooke."

…

The car ride back to Tree Hill was awkward, to say the least. Peyton tried to ease the tension many times, but the words died on her tongue, and the two cheaters lapsed into silence once again. Lucas, for his part, had nothing to say.

He didn't regret what had happened between them. He had been trying to forget Peyton for most of the month he had been dating Brooke, but he could no longer pretend. He wanted to be with Peyton.

But he knew that she would never openly betray her best friend like that. He admired her for that, but it made their relationship extremely difficult.

Finally, he could not bear the silence for another moment. Staring at the gentle curve of the road stretching out before them, his hands poised on the steering wheel, he began, "Peyton, what happened was…"

"Don't, Luke," she offered lightly, the lack of emotion in her voice frightening and saddening Lucas. Had what happened between them really affected her that much?

"Why not?" he asked defiantly, trying to make her look at him, just look at him. She had been avoiding his eyes ever since their mouths had formed the name they had both tried to forget, and he couldn't bear it. Perhaps it had been a mistake, yes, but he didn't think that meant that everything had to change between them.

Or did it?

"You're with Brooke now," Peyton whispered, almost reverently, as if the seemingly near-perfect state of his and Brooke's relationship was too beautiful and unimaginable to mar. "What happened between us doesn't really matter."

He almost contradicted her, but realized that such an interruption was futile, and possibly damaging. He could tell that it was hard for her to let go of what had happened, hard for her to acknowledge that she had betrayed her best friend. He didn't want to add to her burden.

She continued, "And besides…it didn't mean anything."

But he couldn't stop himself this time. "It didn't?" he found himself asking incredulously.

She was silent for a long moment, and he was certain she wouldn't answer him.

But finally, she turned to look at him, and their eyes met. Finally, she tucked a loose curl behind her ear, her free hand dangling in the air, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Finally, she nodded.

"Of course it did."

_fin_


End file.
